


Talking Shop

by majinbun



Series: Anchors [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Dry Humping, Fluff, Grinding, Kissing, M/M, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 11:18:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7265992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majinbun/pseuds/majinbun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There.” Danse pointed, inches from Sturges’ roving fingers. </p>
<p>A wire, just beginning to fray, was tucked behind the knee hinge, worn from overuse. It was barely visible from Danse’s point of view. Sturges leaned in to take a look, close enough that Danse could smell the pomade in his hair. It was a pleasant, familiar scent. Woody, though he couldn’t readily place where he’d encountered it before. Danse’s memory had never been very clear.</p>
<p>“You beat me to it, for once.” Sturges teased, smiling at him all toothy and lopsided. Danse was unfamiliar with the feeling that smile awoke in his chest. He tried to ignore it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talking Shop

Sturges. It wasn’t a name that Danse had encountered before.

Not that it was uncommon to find mononymous individuals in the wastes, Danse himself fell partially into that category. At least he had, until the Brotherhood had granted him a title, an identity. He couldn’t help but wonder if Sturges’ name was given or earned. Danse figured his own was a little bit of both. Danse was something he’d always had, but Paladin ─ that he had earned.

Not that anyone called him Paladin anymore. Not that he wanted them to.

He watched Sturges work, his fingers tracing along exposed wires, chasing an elusive short. Danse could admit, at least to himself, that Sturges was quicker, more knowledgeable when it came to diagnosing what was wrong with a given suit of power armor. He admired that. Hell, it even made him a little bit jealous. But it also gave him a valid reason to stick close to the handyman. There were few others in the sparse settlement worth his time. Garvey was pleasant enough, if slightly overbearing. But Sturges, well, he’d found a kindred spirit in Sturges. 

Talking shop was something he’d missed, something he’d lost along with the Prydwen and his comrades. Danse didn’t even have a personal suit of power armor anymore. He felt adrift without it, naked and back at square one. Danse blinked twice, swallowed, and rerouted that train of thought, no use wallowing in self-pity when there was a bug to find in this nest of wires. 

He glanced over at his… co-worker? Was that the right word? Danse helped Sturges with construction and repairs, in return he got to eat and sleep with most of a roof over his head. It sure as hell beat sleeping on a dank mattress in some abandoned bunker. But it was more than that. Sturges’ company had been a comfort since being manipulated (in hindsight, not so subtly) into joining this settlement. Sturges was easygoing and quick as a whip when it came to power armor. The repairman had various tracks of grease and grime up to his elbows, not that he’d ever seen Sturges completely clean. Danse looked away. If he didn’t redirect his attention from greasy forearms to the task at hand, Sturges was sure to find the fix before him. It was some small consolation to his ego that the suit in front of him was a T-45 model, not the more familiar T-60. The mechanics were similar, but the wiring was a mess on these older models. 

“There.” Danse pointed, inches from Sturges’ roving fingers. 

A wire, just beginning to fray, was tucked behind the knee hinge, worn from overuse. It was barely visible from Danse’s point of view. Sturges leaned in to take a look, close enough that Danse could smell the pomade in his hair. It was a pleasant, familiar scent. Woody, though he couldn’t readily place where he’d encountered it before. Danse’s memory had never been very clear.

“You beat me to it, for once.” Sturges teased, smiling at him all toothy and lopsided. Danse was unfamiliar with the feeling that smile awoke in his chest. He tried to ignore it.

“Is it bad enough to need a splice or will a patch job hold for now?” All business, Danse prided himself on being professional. He redirected his eyes to the fray, turning the wire over in his hands. Sturges’ fingers brushed against Danse’s as he lifted the wire from his grip. Danse clenched his teeth, feeling his heart rate increase. Sturges slid his fingers slowly down the wire, taking in the damage… and unintentionally causing some in the process.

“Oh,” Sturges peered closer at the offending wire, “I think a patch job will hold ‘er for now. Grab the tape for me?” He cocked his chin towards the workbench across the carport. Danse retrieved it eagerly, maybe a little too eagerly. He silently chastised himself.

Handing the tape over to Sturges, he made a point to avoid physical contact. Danse grabbed a nearby welding torch and moved to work on a crack in the opposite leg plate. The increased distance was good for his heart rate. He felt along the edges of the chasm, cursing the “General” under his breath. Their resident anachronism was nothing if not hard on her equipment, and this armor needed to be repaired yesterday. 

“Think we can afford to leave this ding for next time?” Sturges motioned for Danse to take a look at the back of the leg plate. Danse sidled around the armor until he was next to the other man. He craned his neck to get a good look at the spot Sturges pointed to. He leaned closer, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand, close enough that he could feel breath on the side of his neck. Pinpricks ran down his spine as fine hairs started to stand on end.

Sturges cleared his throat, “Much as I appreciate the, ah… sudden closeness, I’m covered in grease and you’re holding an open flame.” 

“Right,” Danse’s cheeks colored and he shifted away, “Sorry.”

“No harm done.” Sturges half-smiled and ran a hand down the back of his neck before going back to work. Danse willed the heat to recede from his cheeks, he’d never been good at concealing embarrassment. 

They spent the last few hours of daylight working with minimal conversation, nothing more than variations of _Pass me that wrench_ or _Think this joint is over lubed?_ It was routine, comfortable. 

Business.

Sturges wiped his forearm across his brow, smearing sweat and grease across it in the process. He stood, hooking his thumbs under overall straps and rolling the stiffness out of his neck. Bending and sweating over a hunk of metal all day was rough on anyone’s body. 

“I’m calling it a day, partner.” Sturges leaned back against the wall, “Not much more to be done without sunlight.”

Danse leaned away from his task into a kneeling position. He met the handyman’s crinkled eyes, squinting against the setting sun. “Enjoy your evening, Sturges.” Danse relished saying the name out loud, he’d found he liked the taste.

“Take it easy.” Sturges patted Danse lightly on the shoulder, “Rest up those arms. We have a lot of rust to scrub in the morning.”

Danse nodded. 

Sturges walked towards the makeshift shower house, Danse’s eyes followed until he was out of sight.

Danse found himself catching a surprise burst of energy, though it was past time for dinner, which he’d missed, and nearing Sanctuary’s unofficial ‘lights out’. He stood and rubbed the texture of the concrete out of his knees. Danse flipped the switch on a floodlight and repositioned it to illuminate the rusty armor. 

_Abraxo, where did they keep the Abraxo?_

* * *

 

It didn’t quite shine, Danse had run out of time and elbow grease long before accomplishing that goal. But at least the armor now reflected light, displaying a crude, distorted reflection. And there wasn’t a spot of rust left to be seen.

Sturges took in Danse’s handiwork, lips twisting into a grin, “You did all that scouring by yourself?” He threw an arm over Danse’s shoulder, “I could kiss you.”

Danse froze. Sturges’ arm was warm across his upper back, hand squeezing his shoulder affectionately. It had been a damn long time since anyone had touched him in a way that wasn’t clinical. The touch was foreign, but very welcome. 

“You…” Danse paused for a long moment, eyes wide. “You could… If you want to, I mean.” 

Sturges was quiet and Danse couldn’t bring himself to look him in the face. He could feel his cheeks and the tips of his ears flushing. _Fuck, fuck. That was a mistake. What is wrong with you?_

But he felt a calloused hand against his chin, tilting his face to the side. Had no time to react before lips, surprisingly soft lips, were pressed against his own. He didn’t close his eyes, wanted to see what this looked like, to file it away in his mind.

And in that moment, he panicked. Sure, he’d been kissed before, had plenty of experience in the dark nooks and crannies of the maze that was Rivet City. But never in the open, never underneath the sun where anyone and everyone was invited to watch. He wanted to press back, wanted to part his lips and shove paranoia out of the driver’s seat. But he felt exposed, vulnerable, and like he was melting all at once. 

A sharp whistle from behind turned the blood in his veins to ice. Danse severed their contact and whipped around. That fucking ghoul was leaning in the doorway, leering. A horrific imitation of a grin split his leathery face. Cold flushed to hot, Danse’s face was a furnace and his hands were shaking. He stalked away, wrenching an axe from a piece of unchopped firewood as he passed the pile. Sturges called for him to stop, but he kept walking; as far as he could go without leaving the settlement completely behind. 

Danse looked at the dead trees around him, choose the stoutest one he could find, and went to work. He swung the axe over and over, chipping away at the hardwood, turning the red in his face from anger to exertion. It felt good, the acid taking over his arms, already tired from a long night of scrubbing. Then he felt nothing at all, but kept swinging until his arms gave out. The axe lodged itself firmly in the tree, only halfway through. Danse’s arms hung limply at his side and he sunk to the ground, leaning against the trunk. Sweat trickled down his face, beading in his stubble, but eventually making its way to the absorbent collar of his flannel shirt.

Fraternization had been strictly forbidden in the Brotherhood. Those that partook in the forbidden did so behind closed, locked doors. Danse had not been one of them. And before that, improper displays of affection were a surefire way to get your pockets picked, or worse. Life in Rivet City had been rough. Self preservation mandated that he avoid being caught in compromising positions. And publicly losing himself in the soft lips and warm embrace of a man he barely knew was about as compromising as it gets. Not to mention the fact that what should have been private was interrupted by a gawking ghoul audience. Danse hit the back of his head against the tree trunk repeatedly, just enough to hurt, not enough to cause real damage. Self preservation was the strongest instinct he had, the only thing that kept him going. 

Until recently, at least. 

He heard the crunch of dead grass before he saw who the footsteps belonged to.

“So… Did I seriously misread some signals back there?” Sturges’ mouth was downturned, his hands stuffed into pockets. 

“It’s not that.” Danse pulled his knees up to his chest, resting folded arms on top of them. He could already feel the beginnings of soreness from overexertion.

Sturges took a seat on the ground, leaning against a nearby tree. He said nothing, just gazed at Danse expectantly. 

“I, um…” Danse swallowed, “I’m not very good at this.”

“Take your time.” Sturges’ face had softened somewhat. Danse took that as a good omen.

He breathed in, then out. His cheeks were returning to a normal temperature, “I am… uncomfortable with being exposed.”

“You mean… You don’t want to be seen kissing other men.” Sturges jaw hardened, “Okay.” He stood to leave.

Danse reached out, grabbing his hand, “Wait.” 

Sturges stayed, but pulled his hand away and crossed arms over his chest.

“That's not what I meant.” Danse stopped, closed his eyes and sighed. He considered his next statement, “I’d never been kissed in broad daylight before. Mostly dark corners, sometimes closets…”

“Shh…” Sturges interrupted, sitting down next to Danse and placing a finger over his lips, “Stop.”

Shoulder to shoulder, he meshed his fingers with Danse’s. It was painful against the blisters that were forming from vicious contact with the axe handle, but Danse didn’t pull away.

Sturges wrapped his other hand around the back of Danse’s neck, leaning into him until their foreheads were pressed together, “You deserve to be kissed in broad daylight.”

The distance between them closed and Danse held very still, his head resting against the rough tree bark. He closed his eyes, willing his heart to stop racing, trying to mute his mind from screaming at him to secure the perimeter. But Sturges’ lips were soft and the woods around them were quiet. Danse relaxed by millimeters, first gripping Sturges’ hand, then softly parting his lips, extending the invitation for more. Sturges took it, swiping his tongue along Danse’s lower lip. 

His heartbeat dulled to a heavy thud, pronounced, but not as rapid as before. Danse ran his hand up Sturges’ arm, appreciating the curve of taut muscle as he reached his bicep. Sturges pulled away, pecking Danse on the lips once before swinging a leg over Danse’s lap. The space between their bodies narrowed until there were but inches remaining to separate their hips. He slid a hand down Danse’s neck, resting both palms on the planes of his chest and splaying his fingers. 

Sturges brought his face close to Danse’s, their noses brushed, “Tell me if you want me to stop.” 

Danse nodded, his gut was a ball of nervous excitement. He tried to relax, tried to ease into the sensation of Sturges settling his weight onto Danse’s lap, rocking his hips forward and catching Danse’s lower lip between his teeth. Sturges closed his hands, capturing fistfuls of Danse’s shirt, it pulled tight across his back. He was putty, putty in perpetually oil-stained hands.

Danse relaxed his free hand, hadn’t realized he’d been clenching, and brought it to rest on Sturges’ hip. He’d thought about this, sure. Thought about stealing a kiss while their heads were close together, examining some fried bit of circuitry. But he’d been afraid of rejection, of laying himself bare. He couldn’t afford to make that gamble again and lose. 

Danse moaned against the encroaching heat of Sturges’ mouth. His hips leapt in long-repressed excitement at the feeling of Sturges’ rapidly hardening cock against his own. He’d never _really_ thought this would happen. Danse wrapped his fingers tightly around Sturges’ hips, pulling him down as he bucked in the opposite direction. Sturges pulled his lips away, liberating a whimper that went straight to Danse’s cock. 

They were being too loud. Danse wouldn’t be able to hear if there were hostiles approaching. Sturges pressed his mouth against Danse’s cheek, kissing and lapping his way down the side of his neck. His fingers began to fiddle with the buttons on Danse’s shirt, but gave up after the first fell free. He instead began to trace the lines of Danse’s chest through his shirt, working his fingers downward to defined abs. Danse felt a shudder course through the body above him. He moved his hands from Sturges’ hips, instead sliding them into back pockets and over taut flesh. The muscles rippled beneath Danse’s fingers as Sturges ground into his lap.

Danse caught Sturges mouth with his own, sucking the lower lip in between teeth and biting softly. Sturges’ hand drifted lower, flicking open the top button of Danse’s jean and brushing fingers against his cock below. He released Sturges’ lower lip, exhaling in an almost pant. The cool breeze against wet skin, ominous creaking of branches above, pressure of Sturges’ groin against his own. It was all too much, Danse’s head was spinning. He pulled his hands away from Sturges’ ass.

“Wait… uh. Just wait a minute.” Danse ran a hand over his hair, smoothing things back into place, letting the haze in his mind clear.

Sturges sat back, placing hands demurely on his thighs, a contrast to the way he was biting at his lower lip. His weight threatened to crush Danse’s kneecaps. Sturges’ erection was clearly outlined against his overalls, Danse doubted he fared much better. 

“Not here. I─we can’t do this here.” Danse put his hands on the ground, gripping handfuls of dead grass. He needed to anchor himself.

Sturges slid off of his lap, but not before tracing one finger down Danse’s jawline, “You sure know how to send mixed signals.” He smiled.

Danse tried to laugh, but it came out all wrong, an unfamiliar contortion of his throat. 

Sturges scooted over, maneuvering next to him. Hip to hip, thigh to thigh. He patted Danse’s leg briskly, affectionately. 

“Gonna lose our share of breakfast if we don’t head back.” Sturges grinned at him, “There’s a couple more projects I could use your help with. List never ends.”

He stood, then leaned over, offering Danse a hand. Danse took it, pressing callous to blister, and hauled himself up. Sturges’ hand was solid, everything about Sturges was solid. Danse brushed off the seat of his jeans, buttoned his fly, and followed as they headed back towards the settlement.

“Sturges?” Danse caught up and matched the other man's stride.

“Yeah, partner?” 

Danse smiled. Partner ─ he liked that. It was a name he could get used to, a name he had earned.

“Let’s try that again sometime.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Kudos/comments are very appreciated!


End file.
